


Five Kisses

by Commander



Category: Hey Arnold
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-21
Updated: 2009-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander/pseuds/Commander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shakespeare's original version of Romeo and Juliet has FIVE kisses? Helga's totally getting gypped! ...Or is she? "School Play" inspired two-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first of two _Hey Arnold!_ fanfics. I wrote it just as I was really getting into rewatchinig the show, and also as the school year was wrapping up and I, much to my chagrin, had to write a paper for my Shakespeare class saying how Romeo and Juliet embodied the "ideal romantic couple". Barf. My essay was full of snark (and if you're wondering, I got a B on it, so my professor neither loved nor hated it... it was a bit of a letdown, actually), but I still didn't feel I had said everything I wanted to say.
> 
> So I wrote this. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

This kind of thing didn't happen to her. The world around her rarely reflected what she was feeling inside. Sure, so sometimes a lightening bolt would flash across the sky when she gave an impassioned scream, but she had to be honest with herself—that was always _planned; _when the sky raged above her she allowed herself to brood over her love, feverishly imagine he was there when he wasn't, and finally work herself up to such a desperate, lovesick state that she let her voice wail with the pain of the harsh disparity between fantasy and reality, just as a bolt of lightening would illuminate her dark, lonely existence.

It was so amazing and weirdly poetic that she actually enjoyed it, emotionally taxing though it was.

But no, even that was the exception. She raged when the world raged, yes; but when the world was calm, she _still_ raged. She stumbled while the world was at peace, and when it was in turmoil, she stumbled even more.

But today, things were different. Yes, of course she was tormented inside. When was she _not? _And today, more so than any other day in her life, she had the most reasons to be so.

And yet it wasn't registering. She sat staring at herself in the mirror that afternoon, after mechanically eating lunch amidst her chattering, excited classmates and hurriedly being herded backstage for costume fittings and rehearsals. The play opened that night, and she had only just gotten the part yesterday.

_Well, duh, no wonder nothing's registering,_ she mentally chided herself. _I was up until one AM last night pounding these miserable, cumbersome lines in my head!_

"Oh, Helga, that dress really suits you," said Phoebe with a smile.

"Suits me if I'm going to a Halloween dance," Helga muttered, still staring bleary-eyed at her unresponsive reflection.

"Really, you look very nice," Phoebe emphasized.

"The dress _is _a little short on you," Sheena said, "but I don't think I have time to make any more adjustments to it. Hmm." She pulled down on the sleeve of the purple Renaissance dress, which didn't quite make it all the way down to Helga's wrist. "Could you stand up for me, please?"

Helga, with no small effort, pushed her way out of the folding chair and stood up, her shoulders hunched over in a groggy pose as she looked almost with disgust at the pathetic excuse for a Juliet that looked back at her. The dress, indeed, only went down to about an inch above her ankles.

"Where's the flood, Juliet?" she snorted, addressing her own reflection.

"It's really not that bad," Phoebe said. "I have lots of dresses that go up higher than that on me."

"Wait! I have an idea!" Sheena said. "I think if I let out the hem the dress should be longer, and if I add lace to the sleeves… it could work!"

"You get to it, then," Helga said, pulling the dress off over her head and handing it to Sheena. "And make it snappy! I don't want to be up there looking like I'm wearing my Halloween costume from first grade!"

As Sheena took the dress and ran off with it for adjustments, Phoebe asked, with a note of concern in her voice, "Are you feeling alright, Helga? You don't seem quite like yourself today."

"Of course I'm not," Helga muttered, straightening out her jumper-dress that had gotten a bit bunched up while she had pulled off Juliet's dress over it. "I didn't even get six hours of sleep last night because I had to learn all those sappy lines. And now I'm stuck running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to get everything ready for tonight when I feel like a _zombie. _All this for a stinkin' play!"

"But Helga," said Phoebe, with a small, careful smile, "I thought you _wanted _to be Juliet."

Helga had been prepared for someone to say that, however, and she had prepared an answer. "Duh. I want to act. I want people to see me up on that stage and focus all their attention on _me _just for an hour or two! But Mr. Simmons _had _to pick Romeo and Juliet for our play. And so the lead female role _had _to be this pathetic, whiny, stupid Juliet who can't shut her trap. But she's the only character in this rotten play that I can be and actually get recognition for."

"Well, just be glad that we're doing an abridged version of the play," said Phoebe. "The full Shakespearean text has a running time of three hours, whereas ours should only run for maybe an hour and a half."

"Really?" asked Helga, surprised. "What all did our version cut?"

"Oh, a few scenes of plot exposition here and there… some of the speeches have been trimmed… and a lot of the romance has actually been—well, toned down, shall we say."

"Toned-down romance? I thought this whole _play _was nothing _but _romance!"

"Well, true," said Phoebe. "But this version, tailored more for younger actors, has eliminated much of the more _physical _romantic elements. In Shakespeare's original text, Romeo and Juliet actually kiss _five _times, as opposed to the single kiss in—"

"_Five_ times?" Helga yelped.

"Like you said, it _is _a romance play," smirked Phoebe. "But seeing as it would not be completely appropriate for actors of our age to kiss so many times, this version chose to eliminate all but the final kiss."

"Well—well criminy, why didn't they throw out _that _one too?" Helga cried, trying desperately to steady herself. Being groggy _and _flustered was not a good combination. Of course, the _real _question she was asking was _why, oh why couldn't we have used Shakespeare's full text? Oh Arnold, my love, I would memorize every play the man ever wrote, word for word, for the chance to kiss you FIVE times in a row!_

"Well, gosh, Helga, what kind of romance doesn't have at least one kiss?" Phoebe smiled knowingly—almost _too _knowingly for Helga's tastes.

"Yeah, yeah, wipe that smile off your face, Feebs," she said abruptly. "I'll be able to handle one kiss, I think, but any more than that and I'm _outta here."_

"Wiping," said Phoebe crisply.

…

During rehearsal that afternoon, though, Helga soon realized that she would _not _have been able to handle Shakespeare's original five-kiss version… because she could hardly function properly with Arnold as Romeo's dialogue and limited physical touching as it was.

"It was the lark," he was reciting, earnestly enough for a boy playing the role, to Helga's Juliet, smiling at her and touching her hand slightly, causing her knees to shake _(oh God please don't let anyone notice), _"the herald of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what… uh, what…"

"'_What envious streaks'," _Mr. Simmons hissed from back stage.

"Right!" Arnold quickly regained his posture and looked back at Helga, who hadn't once taken her eyes off him. "What envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and…" He faltered again. "Aw, man… line?"

"'_And jocund day'."_

"And jocund day… and… and jocund day…"

"'_Stands—"_

"Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops!" Arnold quickly finished. "I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

"Alright, could we stop there for a minute?" Mr. Simmons said, stepping onstage. Arnold sighed in slight irritation at himself, letting go of Helga's hand, which in turn shook her out of her trance.

"You don't know your lines yet?" she hissed angrily at him. "Criminy! I know mine better than you and I only _got _them yesterday!"

"I _know _them," protested Arnold, "it's just… it's just there's a lot of them, and they get mixed up in my head."

"You're doing great, Arnold, really," Mr. Simmons said emphatically. "I can tell that you know your lines. You just need a little more practice."

"I've been practicing constantly for the past two weeks," Arnold said, his voice disappointed. "If I haven't gotten them by now…"

"You're thinking in terms of _words, _Arnold. I need you to start thinking of your lines as _phrases. _Phrases of poetry. Think of how they connect together. I think that will help you remember them better."

"Uh, okay," said Arnold with a shrug. "Is it alright if I go look at my script really quick?"

"Go ahead," said Mr. Simmons. "I want to have a word with Helga."

"Me?" Helga asked.

"You have an interesting interpretation of Juliet," said Mr. Simmons as Arnold made his way backstage to his book bag. "It's very unique—"

"What do you mean, _interesting?" _Helga demanded.

"You're embracing Juliet's youthfulness, portraying her as a dazed and lovesick individual—and that's great! That's a big part of Juliet's character. But so is her passion. She is not merely distracted by Romeo, she _loves _him and shows it explicitly through her words and actions. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"I—uh—" Helga felt her face flush. She had had no idea that she had been acting so dazed. No idea! And if she had been unaware of how she had seemed just now, did that mean that she walked around in a daze _every _time she was near Arnold? Was she making her love for him that obvious? No, no, of course not—normally Arnold didn't say Romeo's lines to her, and normally he didn't touch her hand so gently, and normally he didn't look at her and smile at her so wondrously, so lovingly—

_Focus, Helga, focus!_

"I figured Juliet _would _be a silly love-blinded fool," she said quickly. "I mean, come on, only a complete _sap _would fall for this tripe!" _Oh God, I really AM a sap, aren't I?_

"It is _not _tripe, Helga. The words may seem silly and overwrought to you, and they do to most modern audiences, so there's nothing wrong with that. But the words are expressing the true and deep feelings that they have for each other. You're really doing great," he said sincerely. "I did have my doubts that you would be able to learn all your lines in such a short amount of time, but you've gone far beyond my expectations—which were high in the first place. Now I need you to go just one step further. Find the passion inside of you and mix it in with your Juliet. I know that it's there. Don't be afraid to let it out."

"_What _passion inside of me?" Helga scoffed, feeling her stomach knot up. He was seeing inside of her as if her skin were transparent.

"I've read many of your poems that you've turned in," said Mr. Simmons with a smile. "You have a passion and a fire within you that shines through in your writing."

"How do you know I'm not faking it?" Helga shot back.

Mr. Simmons kept his smile. "No one could fake poetry as good as yours."

Helga felt herself smile in gratitude before she could stop herself.

"You may find Juliet foolish, and that's understandable," Mr. Simmons continued. "But embrace the parts of her that are inside of _you, _and that's when you'll give your best performance."

Arnold came back on stage, and Mr. Simmons turned his attentions to him. "Have you been going over your lines?" he asked.

"Well, I was," said Arnold, "but I have a question about the last scene."

_The last scene. _The scene with the kiss. Helga's stomach did a cartwheel.

"My last line, right before I die, is 'thus with a kiss I die'. But I thought that the only kiss in this play was at the end, when she kisses me."

"Well, Arnold, in the original there are actually a number of kisses—"

"So…" Arnold sighed, looked down at the script, and looked back at Mr. Simmons. "So _do_ I have to kiss her then?"

Helga would have fallen to the floor if the scenery behind her hadn't stopped her, instead making her fall back against a pillar and having to grasp on to it to keep herself upright.

Luckily neither Arnold nor Mr. Simmons noticed her. "No, you don't."

Helga's eyes bulged in both relief and disappointment.

"Since you've just drunk the poison at that point," Mr. Simmons was continuing, "it's perfectly acceptable for you to attempt to kiss her, but die before actually doing so."

Arnold again looked back at the script and then back at Mr. Simmons, strangely still not looking satisfied. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"If I want to kiss her, but die before doing so, why would I finish my statement? I mean, wouldn't kissing her be more important than completing my thought?"

"Oh God…" Helga whispered aloud, trying desperately to stand up without having to rely on the pillar. The other kids were still milling around backstage and some were actually going to sit in the auditorium seats—they would _see _her—_get a GRIP—_

"Well, that's an interesting way of looking at it," Mr. Simmons admitted. "I suppose if you wanted to, you could kiss her hand or something."

"Yeah, I could do that," said Arnold with a nod. "I know this is kind of out of order, but could we run the end scene right now, while it's still in my head?"

"Well, I suppose it's alright with me," said Mr. Simmons. "How about you, Helga?"

They both turned and saw her clutching the pillar behind her, her legs so far stretched behind her that she was almost on her knees.

"Helga, are you alright?" Arnold asked.

"I'm just _peachy, _football head!" Helga snapped. "I'm just trying to hold up the scenery!"

"Hold up the scenery?" Arnold repeated, confused.

"_Yes, _hold up the scenery. This cheap junk is about two seconds away from tumbling!" She pulled herself up on her feet and let go of the pillar. "But anyway, so we're running the smoochie-face scene now?"

"If that's alright with you," said Mr. Simmons.

"Sure, let's get it over with," muttered Helga, moving over to where the tombstone that she had to lie on during most of the last scene was and positioning herself in her coma-induced sleep, but her mind running at a million miles an hour. _He's going to kiss me. Just my hand, yes, but still HE'S GOING TO KISS ME. And then I'M going to kiss HIM… in front of all these people… and there'll be way more tonight… oh God, what was I THINKING?_

"Arnold, you can start from right after you've killed Paris," said Mr. Simmons.

"Okay." Helga could hear Arnold move closer to her. She took slow, deep breaths in order to both act as if she was in a coma like the play required, and to calm her rapidly growing anticipation.

"In faith, I will," Arnold recited, slowly while struggling to remember the lines but with more confidence than he had had earlier. "Oh, give me thy hand, one writ with me in sour misfortune's book. I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. A grave? Oh, no! A lantern, slaughtered youth, for here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light."

Helga wasn't even looking at him, and she was _still _finding it harder and harder to breathe.

"Good job!" Mr. Simmons whispered encouragingly.

"Oh my love, my wife," Arnold continued. Helga felt him grasp her hand again, and it took everything in her power to keep from sighing contentedly. "Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath… hath no power yet upon thy beauty. Here, here I will remain with worms that are thy chambermaids. …Uh… oh!—Here will I set up my everlasting rest and shake the yoke of… of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Here's to my love. …Oh, wait, I don't have the goblet…"

"Just pretend to drink it for now, we'll get it later," Mr. Simmons prodded.

Arnold let go of Helga's hand, presumably miming drinking the poison. Helga allowed herself one shaky inhale of preparation. _Steady, girl… you can handle this… just savor the moment while it lasts without turning into a complete and utter moron in front of the whole freaking school!_

"Oh true apothecary!" Arnold cried out in anguish. _Your voice is so beautiful, _Helga thought and began to smile—no! No smiles! "Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss—"

_Insides turn to mush in three, two, one—_

He kissed her hand.

Her right hand, no, not really her hand but her _fingers, _almost the tips of them, gently and tenderly, just a soft brush of the lips, not really a peck, not lasting more than a second, and yet time stopped. Time stopped, her breathing stopped, her heartbeat stopped, everything stopped except her nerves, which were on fire. The surge that shot through her veins was greater than it would have been if he had actually stuffed those same fingers into an electrical socket.

Of course, time didn't actually stop. It was a mere moment, a blink of an eye, and no sooner had his lips brushed her fingers than they were gone, and he finished his line, "—I die," with such a pitiful, mournful croak that Helga's eyes automatically flew open just to make sure he was alright. Arnold crumpled to the ground, not too heavily and not too lightly, closed his eyes, and lay still.

"Wonderful, Arnold, wonderful!" Mr. Simmons said, clapping enthusiastically. All the kids watching in the audience were clapping too. "You do it just like that tonight and it will be perfect."

Arnold opened his eyes and smiled, ruining the dead effect. "You really think so?"

"Definitely! Now… now where's our Friar Laurence? Where's Stinky?"

Phoebe poked her head onstage from behind the curtains. "Um, he's having a little difficulty with his bald cap…"

"Man! This really bites!" Stinky's voice could be heard from the dressing rooms.

Mr. Simmons sighed. "We'll just skip ahead to Juliet's death. Helga, you can start at 'go, get thee hence'."

Helga, feigning annoyance, sighed, slid off the tomb, and knelt down beside Arnold. "Alright, here we go." She cleared her throat and took a deep breath before speaking. "Go, get thee hence," she said, in a monotone voice that sounded almost bored, "for I will not away. What's there, a cup, closed in my true love's hand. Poison I see hath been his timeless end. Oh churl, drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. I will kiss thy lips; haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with a restorative." She took another deep breath, looked down at her beloved, his eyes closed so sweetly, his lips just waiting expectedly for hers to meet them, her entire class watching…

She jerked her head back up. "Do I _have _to do this?" she demanded to Mr. Simmons. _What are you doing you're missing your CHANCE! _her heart screamed back.

"Yes, Helga, you _are _playing Juliet in Romeo and Juliet…"

"Arnold weaseled out of _his_ kiss!" She pointed an accusing finger at him, whose eyes were open again as he was watching the scene unfold before him with interest. "Why can't I get out of mine?"

"This kiss is very important, Helga… not only is it a statement of your love, but you are also trying to suck out any poison that might be lingering on his lips…"

Helga made a face of surprise. "Are you saying you want me to _lick _him?"

The entire audience of students roared with laughter as Arnold made a face of disgust to match Helga's incredulous one. Part of her was slightly disgusted, too—disgusted at how _appealing _the other part of her found the idea.

"No! I mean—well, let's put it this way—you either have to lick him or kiss him."

"Fine!" Helga spat out decisively. "I'll kiss the little freak!"

And with that she yanked his head up to hers and forcefully kissed him.

Well… kiss might not have been quite the correct term. It was a more a smack—a loud, fast, wet smack right on the lips. She dropped him as abruptly as she had grabbed him, running through her last two lines at lightening speed: "Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. Oh happy dagger, this is thy sheath—there rust and let me die." She quickly mimed stabbing herself and fell over in a heap.

_Aw, crap, _she thought to herself in despair. _That wasn't the way I'd planned it—I thought our first kiss would be romantic and amazing and would sweep us off our feet—not some wet-lipped smooch of doom! Man, I'm such a screw-up!_

"Uh, Helga…" Mr. Simmons began.

"What?" Helga snapped, sitting back up.

Her teacher gave her a reproachful look. "I want you to do it again, and for real this time."

"What's my motivation?" Helga demanded, crossing her arms.

"Close your eyes," Mr. Simmons said.

"Huh?"

"Just go along with me for a minute. Close your eyes."

Helga groaned in irritation, but did so.

"I want you, just for the time being, to _forget _that you're Helga. Right now, you are Juliet. You are Juliet Capulet, thirteen years old, your family is feuding with the Montagues, and you are in love with Romeo Montague. Now open your eyes."

Helga did, finding that her anger (that had been mostly directed at herself) had nearly vanished.

Mr. Simmons pointed to Arnold, who was still looking a little befuddled at the strange show Helga was putting on. "I want you to forget that he's Arnold. Right now, he's Romeo. _He's _your motivation. He's your husband and he means everything in the world to you, and now you see him dead on the ground. You _love _him."

"I love him," Helga whispered, her voice quavering, gazing at Arnold but most certainly _not_ forgetting who he was.

"Yes! Yes!" Mr. Simmons said enthusiastically. "You love him, and you find him dead! Everything right with your world has collapsed!"

Helga quickly shook her head, trying to focus on anything _other _than Arnold. "Alright, alright," she said, her voice back to normal, "I love him and find him dead, so I kill myself. Got it."

"Not just that. Say your lines with _passion, _Helga. Imagine that you love him and you've just discovered that he _died." _Helga quickly swallowed and turned away as she felt her eyes threaten to fill with tears. Mr. Simmons went on. "You're not going to just talk in monotone and give him a quick peck on the lips. Be tender, be passionate! Let's do your lines and the kiss again, and remember your motivation."

"Um, Helga?" Arnold said.

"_What?" _Helga demanded.

Arnold flinched a bit before relaxing his shoulders and wiping off his mouth with his sleeve. "This time, could you try to make the kiss not so… wet?"

"You're in no position to be demanding, Arnold," she muttered harshly, scooting over to his side again. "You're just gonna have to take what you get."

As she said her lines this time, she didn't think about how she should or should not say them, how she needed to show this or hide that… instead, the only words running through her mind were _I'm going to do it right this time. I'm going to kiss him like I've always dreamed of kissing him! …Okay, maybe not THAT passionately—but I'm not going to be afraid of what other people will think, because they'll think NOTHING! They think I'm ACTING!_

"…to die with a restorative." Again, she leaned down over him, but this time slower, more thoughtfully, taking in all of his beautiful (albeit weirdly-shaped) figure. How, oh how could she have pecked him so unceremoniously just minutes before?

She was shaking. She could definitely feel it and she was sure he could feel it too as she grasped his shoulders. Her stomach was practically in her throat. _Oh, wouldn't it just be PERFECT if I hurled all over him right now from nervousness—God no, I'm not going to give myself that chance!_

With that thought, she quickly leaned down and pressed her lips against his, again. It was still forceful, yet this time she didn't pull away as quickly… this time she felt herself sighing inside, her heart doing cartwheels, her stomach plunging back down where it belonged… her lips moved against his, taking him in…

A whistle of approval broke out from the audience right at that moment.

Helga immediately tore away from Arnold, dropping him unceremoniously on the floor again. "Alright, what _jerko _out there did that?" she roared. The audience also roared—with laughter and more whistles. "Fess up!" Helga screeched. "I'm not up here kissing for your approval, you losers!"

She was interrupted by the bell ringing. The clock showed the blessed time: 3:15.

"Wait! Wait, students, I need to talk to you, I want to run over a few more things!" Mr. Simmons yelled, but it was for naught. The students were all already halfway to the door.

He sighed in resignation. "Be here at six tonight, then!" he yelled.

Arnold pushed himself up from the floor, rubbing his buttocks with a slightly pained expression. Helga was still glaring at the departing students, her fists clenched and her eyes burrowed.

"Wait, you two," Mr. Simmons said. "I need at least the two of you to stay after and get this scene right."

Helga spun around and stared at him, her eyes wide with pleading. "Oh, come _on, _Mr. Simmons, it's 3:15! School's over!" She had to leave. Too much was happening all at once. She felt like she was about to cry. From happiness, anger, love, nervousness, embarrassment, she didn't know—probably all of them. All she knew was that she was about to burst with emotions, and she sure as hell couldn't do it here.

"Helga, I know you don't like doing this," said Mr. Simmons, "but the sooner you get it right, the sooner you can leave."

Helga sighed in defeat. She was too flustered to fight at that moment. "One more, and that's it." She gave Arnold a shove. "Lay back down, football head."

The shove wasn't very hard, but Arnold still stumbled backwards before regaining his balance and sitting back down, giving Helga a reproachful look. "You know, you could be a little more careful about letting go of me this time."

"Butthurt, are you?" Helga muttered. She knelt by his side. "Close your eyes and play dead, you idiot." He did so. Helga didn't look at him this time. "Blah blah blah to die with a restorative," she said, tonelessly and yet breathlessly, that odd combination of emotions getting caught in her throat. She turned to him, unable to avoid looking at him anymore, and cradled his head in her hands, for the first time that day feeling truly sincere about her love for him. The auditorium had cleared out, being romantic with him was expected of her for this brief moment in time, her love for him was bubbling up inside of her like lava… this was it.

This was it. Probably her only chance to get it right.

And she already knew she would _never _get it right.

"Damn it," she whispered, and he opened his eyes.

She kissed him.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his neck, his head; her lips parted just slightly, just enough for his lower lip to fit between them, and she felt it there and savored it, tasted it, enclosed it in her lips, made it hers yet lost herself to it. Lost herself to _him. _He didn't struggle or even flinch. In fact, she could feel him relaxing against her; an involuntary twitch of his lip was like static electricity to her, and she felt him sigh, exhale with her, in her, with absolutely no repulsion.

It was perfect.

She pulled away. Her heart was pounding, rattling her ribcage; her lungs had seemed to have forgotten how to work; her throat had dried up; her eyes seemed to be frozen in a bulged expression of shock.

Arnold looked back at her, also surprised, but with a gentle confusion in his eyes as well.

Oh God, he had never looked at her like that before.

"I've gotta go," Helga said breathlessly, quickly standing up and backing up towards backstage.

"But Helga—" Mr. Simmons began.

"I said I've gotta go!" Helga snapped, feeling her body tense with rage once more. "For God's sake school's over and I ain't staying here anymore! And I'm _sick to death _of this _disgusting _kissing! I'll only do it one more time, and that's at the show tonight! I _refuse _to kiss him again! I _refuse _to rehearse this _piece of crap _play anymore! _I'M GOING HOME!"_

She ran backstage and out of sight before anyone could stop her.

"You did it right that time!" Mr. Simmons called after her. "That was great!"

"Yeah… it _was _great," Arnold said quietly, touching his lips, still completely taken aback.


	2. Part 2

Helga was at the school just a little before six o'clock, completely and utterly composed. This was because she had spent the last two and a half hours fanatically in the throes of every emotion in the human spectrum and thus getting them out of her system. She had started off by screaming at the walls, punching and kicking anything in her room that was available to be a punching bag, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with sadness and anger, "Why why why why _why _am I such a screw-up? My one chance to get it right and I bolt out of the building like it's on _fire! Why _can't I kiss him with the love and tenderness I feel?" And so on and so forth.

Once the bitterness had been expelled from her, however, she practically threw herself on her Arnold shrine, still crying but now her tears were from joy and love, now able to focus on the positives of that afternoon—and boy howdy, did the positives outweigh the negatives.

"I might have screwed it up," she said, her voice lilting and quavering with love like it always did when she addressed her shrine, "but it was still absolutely _perfect! _Oh, how will I ever be able to kiss this shrine again now that I finally know what reality is like? And how perfect that reality is, even though you don't love me and thought I was just acting—but _oh, _Arnold, Arnold, the way you looked at me after I finally showed you a veiled form of my love! Your eyes, you gentle, caring, wonderful, amazing, _perfect _soul who can care for even the likes of me—oh, I just know the way you looked at me, the way you felt when I kissed you—_holy mother of God I KISSED YOU!—_oh, they'll never leave me! The thought of them shall keep me happy even in my darkest days! But oh, Arnold, my love, my darling, if only you gazed upon me in that manner _every _day!" She paused for a much-needed breath, bit her lip in thought, and shrugged, embracing the football-shaped head of her shrine. "Oh well, right now I'll just take what I can get!"

She spent the rest of the afternoon before heading back for the play in that manner: heartfelt declarations to the shrine (imagining that it really was Arnold, of course); leaning against the wall blissfully and reliving that screwed up, perfect kiss over and over again; writing no less than eight poems about said kiss; and allowing herself to foolishly and childishly spin around her room and shout, "I'm _so _in love with you!"

But now Helga was back to relative normalcy. After changing into her costume, putting on her makeup, and reluctantly allowing Phoebe to braid her hair, she retreated to the quietest nook in the dressing room that she could find and pretended to look over her lines, even though she knew them all perfectly.

And the play started and she acted. She hadn't thought she would really feel like she was actually _acting_ in such circumstances, but oddly enough, the more she reminded herself she was acting the more natural she felt. She was, to her surprise, thinking in terms of herself as Juliet, and Arnold as Romeo. Of course, the fact that she happened to love Arnold more than life itself certainly helped to make the acting that much easier, but the added nervousness from that afternoon was gone.

That is, up until the start of the last scene.

Helga lay motionless on the tomb, mentally preparing herself for what was to happen. _Arnold's going to kiss my hand, and I'm going to kiss him. On the lips. _As fast as her heart was beating, however, she found that she wasn't nearly as on edge as she had been during rehearsal. _I handled it earlier today—well, not exactly perfectly, but this time I know what to expect and what kind of reaction I'll have, so it'll be fine. It'll be more than fine! He'll kiss my hand again, so tenderly, and I'll kiss him with all the love I can possibly muster—I'll kiss him for the fourth time today! Man, am I having a good day! Confusing and terrifying, but good!_

"Here's to my love," Arnold was saying, the moment of his kiss almost there. She felt him let go of her hand and heard him gulp down whatever it was in his goblet. He then gave out a quick little choke with his next line: "Oh true apothecary!" _Nice touch, love, _Helga thought to herself. "Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss—"

Helga steeled her nerves, readying herself for the brush of his lips against her hand.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, she suddenly felt his lips touch hers.

Her eyes flew open. Luckily, that was the only part of her body that still worked—the rest was frigid with shock. But her eyes were open, and locked that way, seeing him there and confirming that she _wasn't _just feeling things in her love-daze.

His eyes met hers for a moment, consciously. And almost apologetically. Apologetic in that sweet, caring way of his that was making her insides turn to mush, and the only thing she could think was _damn you, Arnold, there went my composure._

The soft touch of his lips against hers lasted no more than half a second, as well as the eye contact that seemed to ask for forgiveness, and with that the moment was over—he fell away from her, choking out his final line, "I die," and crumpling to the floor, leaving Helga to feel very much like dying herself—anything to stop the sudden trembling that was threatening to overtake her entire body. _Damn you damn you DAMN YOU I had EVERYTHING under control and you had to mess it up I HATE YOU for doing this to me YOU KISSED ME you ANGEL HOW I LOVE YOU—_

Romeo's death was Friar Laurence's—Stinky's—cue to enter. "Romeo! Oh, pale! Who else? What, Paris too, and steeped in blood! Ah, what an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance!"

That was Helga's cue to wake, which she did, gladly—maybe saying her lines would get her out of her trembling.

"The lady stirs!" Stinky said, as if anyone needed to be told.

As much as her insides were shaking, Helga was surprised at how well she managed to say her line—it was still shaky, but considering Juliet had been in a coma for forty-two hours, it seemed appropriate. "Oh, comfortable friar, where is my lord?" she said slowly, hoping to catch herself if her voice trailed too much into her still raging fervor. "I do remember well where I should be, and there I am. Where is my Romeo?"

"Come, come away!" Stinky said. "Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead—" Helga looked down at Arnold and allowed herself to gasp as if she really _had _discovered her beloved had died—"and Paris too. Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay."

"Go, get thee hence, for I will not away!" Helga moaned in anguish, cradling Arnold's head in her arms.

"Okie-dokie," said Stinky amiably. That wasn't a Shakespeare line, but it didn't seem out of place.

"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end!" Her voice was shaking more and more—but again, it seemed appropriate. "Oh churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips." She touched them, traced their outline with her finger, remembering their touch on hers just minutes before. "Haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with a restorative." There were tears running down her cheeks—hadn't she cried them all out earlier? Oh well. Again, they were appropriate. And right now, she didn't really care how she might seem to the audience. Her composure had disappeared the instant Arnold's lips touched hers, and there was no way on earth she could fight it right now—so why not run with it?

Besides, now it was time to kiss him.

She leaned in with no hesitation this time, pressing her lips against his and just kissing, kissing, _kissing _him, thinking about how he had only just kissed her and much she wished that kiss could have lasted forever—or at least a couple seconds longer. Oh, how amazing it was, their lips touching! How perfectly they melded together—if she had needed any more proof how much he was meant for her, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers had to be it. It was amazing. And yet it _couldn't _last forever—tomorrow she would go back to being Helga and he would go back to being Arnold, and as much as she wished otherwise, kissing was not a crucial component—or even a component at all—in the play of their lives.

This was it. This was _really _it. She wouldn't ever get a chance like this again—at least, unless she ever worked up the guts to tell him she loved him and _then _she could kiss him like this again—but that wasn't going to happen, she knew, not for a long time, if ever. This was all there was left for her—_don't waste your moment!_

So she kept on kissing him. And kept on kissing him. …And kept on kissing him.

It was finally lack of oxygen that forced her to tear away, panting for breath as if she had just run a marathon—and with her heart beating as furiously as it was, it felt like she _had. Okay, now back to the play—finish this off and you can go home and squeal and swoon and write all the poetry you want but you have to FINISH THIS!_

"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief!" She dropped Arnold quickly, making him hit the floor with a painful wince yet again. Inwardly she winced with him, appalled that she could hurt him like that _again, _but there was no time to get mushy—mushier—right now. She grabbed the retractable prop dagger from his belt. "Oh happy dagger! This is thy sheath! There rust, and let me die!"

She pushed the prop dagger into her abdomen and let herself scream in anguish, giving voice to her pounding heart and pounding head. Again, probably longer than necessary, but she _had _to let _something _out. Finally, she stumbled over, toppling not so coincidentally right on top of Arnold. The curtains closed.

The audience cheered as the rest of the cast made their way back onstage for the bows.

"Ugh!" Helga muttered. It was the first thing out of her mouth, and she wasn't sure why. She couldn't quite get herself to stand up, despite Arnold's nudging, as he was still pinned underneath her.

"Uh, Helga, we have to get up for the bows—"

"I know! I know! That fall took a lot out of me," she said shakily—_oh, huge understatement!—_and tried to stand up. She only succeeded in moving enough so that Arnold could climb to his feet, however. He grabbed her by the hand and helped her up.

"Th-thanks," she murmured, forgetting to be mean to him. Arnold smiled at her.

The curtains opened to show the audience enthusiastically clapping, many of them in tears. Helga looked out at them in shock—she was aware that she had moved _herself _to tears, but everyone else?

Arnold noticed it, too. "I guess we did alright, Helga," he said to her with another smile.

"I guess so," Helga said without thinking, still surprised at how she had affected the audience. Then she suddenly remembered that she wasn't Juliet anymore. "Except for that _disgusting _kiss. Yuck! I practically threw up!"

They all took a bow.

Arnold was silent during the bow, perhaps wondering just _what _kiss she had meant. "Then why did you kiss me so long?" he finally asked, identifying the last one—the one _she _had initiated.

"Hey, I was _acting, _football head, I was being _professional—_did you think I _wanted _to do that? I practically _gagged."_

They bowed again.

Arnold sighed. "Whatever you say, Helga," he said, giving her a good-natured smile.

Helga let herself sigh and smile, too.

…

As Helga changed out of her costume and back into her normal dress, she felt as if she were floating. No, really, _floating _outside of her body. And as anxious as she was to get back home and squeal some more like the lovesick moron she was and write probably twenty _more _poems about this long, confusing, amazing, dreamlike day, everything that had happened to her that day had finally caught up to her, and so by the time she was finally finished backstage (except she still had the braid in her hair—she wanted to keep at least some part of Juliet for as long as possible), she realized that almost everyone else had left.

"Time slows down for you when you're in a daze," she murmured. What a lame observation. That just proved it—she needed to go home and go to bed, she was an incoherent blob of jelly. She pushed open the door to the girls' dressing room and stepped out into the hallway.

Mr. Simmons was there, picking up discarded programs and conversing with the few people left in the building. When he saw Helga, however, he turned his entire attention to her. "Helga! You did a _fantastic _job tonight!"

"I did?" Helga said, surprised not only at his words but also his enthusiasm.

"More than fantastic—superb! Incredible! You definitely have an acting career in your future."

"I don't want to be an actor, I want to be a writer," Helga said without thinking. _Oh, crap, wait, this isn't the time for heartfelt confessions of hopes and dreams!_

"Well, if you ever wanted to embark on a double career, you certainly have the capacity for both!" Mr. Simmons said.

"Thank you," Helga murmured. There she was again, too surprised by praise to be able to react in any way other than gratefully. Which went totally against her reputation—thank God no one else was here to see this—

Mr. Simmons focused his attention on something behind Helga. "Arnold! You did a great job, too!"

Helga's eyes looked up to the ceiling hopelessly. _Oh God, WHY?_

"Thanks," said Arnold warmly.

"All those lines you had—and you did great, you remembered them all… well, with a few trip ups here and there, but nobody's perfect!"

_But he's the closest to perfect the world has ever seen, _Helga thought to herself, taking a step away from them and towards the main doors.

"But Arnold, I have to ask," said Mr. Simmons. "Why exactly _did _you kiss Helga?"

Helga stopped and turned around.

Arnold's cheeks flushed apologetically. "Well, actually, Mr. Simmons, it was because of what you said to Helga."

"What I said?"

"Yeah… when you were telling her that she had to act more natural, that she had to imagine that she loved me and that if I was dead, she wasn't going to be harsh and unfeeling. And that made me think…" He glanced at Helga. "When I thought that she was dead, I mean, when Romeo thought Juliet was dead…" He shrugged, still looking Helga directly in the eye. "If I love her and I think she's dead, I'm not just going to kiss her hand. I mean, if I really loved her, I'd kiss her like… well, like I really loved her. So I did."

Helga's jaw was hanging open.

"Well, Arnold, I think that really added a great touch," said Mr. Simmons with a smile. "And you've certainly embraced the message of the play—"

"The play is _stupid," _Helga suddenly said.

Both Arnold and Mr. Simmons stared at her.

"I mean it! This play has the _worst _possible message any romantic play could ever have!" Helga continued. Because she had to continue. Now, after Arnold's explanation for _**the kiss,**_ she knew she couldn't make it home without bursting, so she'd have to start her bursting here. And there was only one way she could do that without completely and totally humiliating herself. "I mean, come on! They _kill _each other after knowing each other for what, _four days? _Oh, that's _real _romantic! And a _great _message to show to audiences everywhere! I _hated _playing Juliet, because she's an absolute _moron! _And don't you dare tell me she's moronic because she's in love! Because she's _not _in love! Real love isn't_ like_ that! If I'd've written this play, I'd've written her _way _differently." She paused, took in a couple of deep breaths, and alternated between glaring at Arnold and glaring at Mr. Simmons, daring one of them to prompt her further.

"How would you have written it, Helga?" Mr. Simmons finally asked.

Helga took another deep, shaky breath of preparation. Oh, God, she was really going to do it. Under the guise of acting as though she was acting, she was going to tell him the truth, everything that she had longed to say but never had the courage to for years. "If I were writing a romance play… I'd write it something like this."

She took a step forward and grabbed Arnold by the shoulders.

"I love you. If there's only one single solitary truth in this entire miserable world it's that, you have to believe that. I know this is clichéd, but because of you, I hear birds singing and flowers blooming and I _see, _I _see _people with goodness in their hearts and I know that somehow, somehow, the world is okay! I light up with happiness every time I see you, because in you more than anyone else can I see that very goodness that makes life worth living. Because _you _bring it out in other people and you help people see how amazing they can be, and the amazing things they can do. But _you, you're _the amazing one for being able to see that in the first place in people and things that everyone else has completely given up on. And I don't know what I'd do without you. If you _died, _oh God forbid,I'd be _devastated. _I'd—I'd—I don't know how I'd be able to go on. But I do know that I somehow _would _go on, for your sake. I _would _go on and do everything in my power to bring out the best in people, just like you do. I couldn't just end my existence and ignore everything you ever taught me—I—I love you too much to do that."

She let go of his shoulders.

"That's… that's how I'd write it," she finished weakly.

It was now Arnold's and Mr. Simmons's turn to stand staring with their jaws hung open.

"I'd probably better go home now," said Helga. _Because if I don't get out of here soon I'm going to absolutely faint._

"Helga," Mr. Simmons finally said, in complete awe, "if I ever needed any more proof of your writing and acting potential, that was it!"

"Oh come on," sighed Helga, "I don't really—"

"He's right," said Arnold, with equal awe. "That was… _amazing, _Helga."

"What did you say?" she whispered.

"I mean, if you can do that kind of thing all the time…" He looked almost as taken aback as Helga was sure she herself looked. "That's _talent. _You could really move a lot of people with your words."

Helga's knees began to shake. As much as she wanted to stay and hear his praise, she knew that she _had _to get out of there _right NOW._

"Thanks—I need to go—"

She took one step backwards, then another, then another, then turned around and headed straight for the door, without looking back.

…

She was too tired, too giddy, too mixed-up, too confused, too completely and utterly _happy _to focus on writing anything when she got back home and in her room. There were so many amazing things to focus on—the fact that she had kissed Arnold four, _four, _times in one day; the fact that she had moved the audience to tears; the fact that Mr. Simmons and Arnold thought she was amazingly talented; the fact that her parents had actually waited for her outside the school, despite how long she had taken in getting out, to congratulate her and drive her home—but the one and only thing that was running through her mind, flashing with bright neon lights and underscored by beautiful, sweeping music was that

_ **HE KISSED ME.** _

Helga clutched her pillow to her chest in rapture. "I love him I love him I love him I love him _I love him!" _she chanted. Normally she was far more articulate, even—especially—concerning her beloved, but right now those three words were the only ones her mouth seemed able to form. She loved him. She had kissed him four, count 'em, _four _times. And _HE _had kissed _HER._

Five times that blissful night their lips had met.

Five times.

She had gotten Shakespeare's original deal after all.

"I'm sorry, Will," she murmured with a giggle, climbing into her bed and pulling the covers up around her. "I guess your play's not so stupid after all."

She still had her arms wrapped around the pillow, however, and stroked it slowly. "Oh, Arnold," she murmured, "please, please understand that those words I said were meant for you. Please, in some unconscious level in that football-shaped head of yours, realize that I meant everything I said, and that I meant it for you… please remember what I said…"

…

At that very moment, laying in his own bed and staring up at the night sky through his skylight, Arnold was doing just that.

Her words were running through his head, over and over, and he couldn't tune them out. Nor could he tune out the earnest, sincere way with which she had looked him straight in the eye when she had said them.

What an amazing actress she was. So good, in fact, that as she had said those words to him, directed to him only because he happened to be within arm's reach and for no other reason… but even so, for a moment he found himself starting to believe her.

He rolled over on his side. That was silly—she obviously _didn't _feel anything remotely close to that for him.

But, man, could she fake it well.

"I can't get it out of my head," he said aloud. "And I can't believe that something like that could come out of someone like _her…"_

He suddenly felt himself smile. She had just proven him right. There _was _someone good and caring inside of her. Even though she didn't love him like that, she could at least imagine, structure, and define love in an amazingly beautiful way. No one who was truly harsh and cold-hearted could say what Helga had just said, even if they were just pretending. Even pretend emotions had to come from somewhere.

_It would be nice to be loved like that, _Arnold felt himself think. _Not right now, of course, I'm only nine. But maybe someday, when I'm older and ready for love… I'd like to be loved the way Helga said. Not loving someone that you'd die for them… but loving them that you'd LIVE for them. Because she's right… that's what true love really is._

He closed his eyes and rolled over on his back, still smiling.

_After all, "live" and "love" are only one letter apart…_


End file.
